


Burnt Chocolate Cake

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Heterosexual Sex, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-09
Updated: 2006-06-09
Packaged: 2018-10-26 14:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10788756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: One birthday, two idiots, three very happy people.Written for the triofqf.





	Burnt Chocolate Cake

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Thanks to Chrys and Mina for the betas!   


* * *

Burnt Chocolate Cake

“Alohamora!” Hermione pointed her wand tiredly at the wooden door in front of her and watched it swing open. She stepped into the dark hallway of her ground floor flat and whispered another spell, letting the many invisible boxes of paper work floating behind her fall loudly to the floor.   
  
With a huff she shouldered the heavy door shut, already toeing off the preposterously painful leather heels she had let Fleur talk her into as an early birthday present. The older woman’s promises of _driving ze boyz crazy_ were rattling around uselessly in Hermione’s already full head.   
  
_Ze boyz_ , as they were, hadn’t even had the decency to wake up early enough to wish Hermione a good day this morning, let alone come to St. Mungo’s to offer her a smile on her special day. Giving a nasty kick to the uncomfortable shoes, as if the entire day had been their fault, Hermione turned with a heavy sigh to set her wand down. She flicked on the muggle lamp next to her door and stood dejectedly in the soft golden light, staring unseeing at the stark, white wall in front of her.  
  
She jumped slightly when she heard a loud metallic clatter from overhead. Glaring at the ceiling, she decided at once that she would skip her usual end of day activity, and instead spend the evening alone.  
  
Casting a brief, dismissing glance at her piles of work, she padded along the carpeted floor, past her infrequently used bedroom with a single, tidy bed and straight into her bathroom, already peeling off her ministry issued white coat. Her claw footed tub, equipped with sweet smelling water and luscious, ever-stay magical bubbles was by far Hermione’s favorite piece of hardware, and this room was second only to Hermione’s den, which had long ago been turned into a library.   
  
She bent to turn the taps far to the left, letting the water rush over her hand until it reached the desired temperature. Satisfied, Hermione slowly unbuttoned her shirt, shrugging it off to show an utterly useless red lacy thing underneath that barely covered her nipples. After stepping out of her skirt and pinning up her monstrous hair away from her neck, Hermione stood in front of the long mirror attached to the back of her bathroom door. She glanced around almost guiltily before studying her reflection, bright blushing cheeks and all. Very rarely did she take time out of her busy day to feel feminine and beautiful. The stockings attached to vermillion panties with clips had been a gift from Harry and Ron last Christmas, and though she swore at the time she’d never wear them, here she was, dressed like someone who’d stepped right out of an erotic muggle film. All alone.   
  
With a frustrated sigh, Hermione shook her head and berated herself for even bothering with the silly get up. She grabbed her dressing gown from a hook on the wall and moved into the bedroom to remove a small paperback from the nightstand drawer before padding silently into the kitchen. She opened cupboard after bare cupboard, peering into the dark spaces.  
  
“Where is it?” she mumbled aloud, certain she had saved one bottle of merlot from her last trip to France. “Argh.” She blew a wayward strand of hair away from her face, narrowing her eyes at the ceiling. “Those ungrateful, idiotic…prats!”  
  
With flashing eyes, Hermione marched into her bathroom, forcibly twisted the handles right so that the rushing water stopped, and all but threw her well-read book onto the tiled floor. She kept up her muttering much of time, spewing curses at the two imbecilic men – _boys_ \- who couldn’t even be bothered to wish her a happy birthday and now…and now they had _stolen her last bottle of wine._  
  
Hermione seized her wand from the door side table. She yanked open the door to her flat and quickly stomped up the stairs directly outside, ignoring the autumn chill. Barely a handful of people could come to the door without alarms heralding their presence, two of those people were inside, and the other was Hermione. She flicked her wrist at the door. It popped open before she had even uttered the spell.  
  
In contrast to her nearly unlived in and often dark flat, this one – though identical in layout – was alive and comfortable: the hallway wall was lined with photographs, almost every light was casually left on, and it smelled of coffee and cologne and – Hermione sniffed – burnt chocolate?   
  
Hermione followed the scent and made her way into a lit kitchen. Determined only to take back her highjacked bottle of wine, she stopped short at the sight that greeted her. A table was set for three, complete with candles, polished silver and colorful flowers. On it sat her bottle of merlot – unopened – and a bowl of what looked to be roasted potatoes. Ron stood at the left burner of the stove, stirring, while, to the right of him, Harry was bent over, his bum in the air while his head and upper body were lost somewhere in the oven.  
  
From Hermione’s vantage point it was a scene of perfect domesticity, save the white handprint upon Harry’s arse, and the tiny white paw prints leading across the plates on the table to a bright mass of orange fur munching happily away at the potatoes. Whatever counter space had not been littered with dirty dishes was covered in drying food, and the chocolate smell from earlier very obviously belonged to the lopsided and burnt cake Harry had just pulled from the oven.  
  
Hermione felt something swell in her chest, and she put her hand to her lips to stifle a laugh. Crookshanks raised head and gave a mew of greeting before jumping neatly from the table and waddling over to rub against its owner’s ankles. Harry spun around at the noise, his eyes going round behind his crooked glasses. Whatever substance had been on his bum – flour, Hermione decided – had also clearly been dumped on his head.   
  
“Hermione!” he yelped, causing Ron to utter a cry and twist away from the stove. His orange ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron was splattered and torn. Hermione gave them both a small wave.  
  
“Hermione,” Ron echoed, his stirring spoon forgotten and dripping onto the floor. “Happy –”   
  
The pot on the stove exploded with a bang, and copious amounts of black smoke filled the kitchen, hiding Ron and Harry from Hermione’s view. She heard another bang and a series of muffled curses, followed by furiously whispered spells. The smoke dissipated. Harry looked as if he was wearing an oozing black hat; goo dripped unceremoniously off Ron’s nose.   
  
“--Birthday.”   
  
Hermione’s laughter filled the room.   
  
“You weren’t supposed to stop stirring, you prat,” Harry hissed at Ron, removing his glasses and cleaning them uselessly on the corner of his grimy shirt.   
  
Ron glowered at Harry. “Yeah, well, maybe you,” he said, wagging his spoon in Harry’s face, and showering him with black specs, “should have warned me she was here.”  
  
Still sniggering, Hermione moved into the kitchen, aiming her wand and whispering incantations as she went along. _The idiots_ , she thought fondly, shaking her head as she came to a stop in front of the arguing couple.  
  
“Don’t you waggle your spoon at me,” barked Harry, as he relinquished his glasses to Hermione. “I’m not the one who wanted to ‘speed things up a bit’.”   
  
“Well, maybe…” Ron puffed out his chest. “If we had got home on time in the first place we could have made the muggle dinner Hermione likes so much properly.”   
  
Hermione felt as if she were watching a tennis match. Her eyes shifted back and forth from one red-faced boy to the other as Harry pushed his newly cleaned glasses up his nose. “Don’t blame me because flower shops don’t sell tulips in September.”  
  
“We didn’t need tulips, mate; flowers are flowers.”  
  
“Tulips are Hermione’s favorite,” Harry said. “I wanted it to be perfect.” He took a step closer to Ron, poking him in the chest with his pointer finger.  
  
“Well, it’s bloody ruined now, isn’t it?” Ron said. “Everything’s a great...sodding....” Ron blinked and glanced around the clean kitchen. “...mess.” His eyes came to rest on Hermione. “Oh, hi, Hermione, we...um... _oomph_.”  
  
“Happy birthday,” Harry interjected, nudging Ron in the ribs.  
  
Hermione grinned. “No need to stop the show because I’m here. I was rather enjoying myself.”  
  
Ron gave a nervous laugh, his hand massaging his ribs. “Guess we botched this one up right good, didn’t we?” He looked crestfallen.  
  
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, eyes moving to study the floor, “it was meant to be a surprise.”  
  
Hermione smiled. “Trust me, I’m surprised.” She waited until they both looked at her. “Happily surprised.”  
  
Ron narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “How could this be a happy surp- Hermione!” He suddenly cocked his head to the side, staring hard at her chest. “ _What_ are you wearing?”  
  
Hermione glanced down. Her red-lace enveloped breast peeked out from her half-opened robe. She looked up to meet Ron’s darkening eyes. “Your Christmas present.”  
  
Beside Ron, Harry licked his lips. “Happy Christmas,” he whispered.  
  
“No,” said Ron, his spoon clattering the floor, “happy birthday.”  
  
The looks on both of her boys’ faces made Hermione shiver. Just as Ron took a step forward, she put up a hand to stop him. She had an idea. “Wait just a minute,” she said.   
  
Ron stopped in mid-step, looking put out.   
  
“It is my birthday, and neither of you thought to wish me happy birthday all day, or even give me a quick kiss on the cheek.” Her lips moved into a pout. “”It made me terribly sad.”  
  
“But that was our plan,” said Harry, looking a little desperate and not quite able to keep his eyes off her chest, “to make you think we’d forgot and then surprise you.”  
  
“Well, I had a terrible day, thinking that two of you didn’t love me,” she told him. She smiled. “I think you ought to be punished. Sit down over there.” She gestured with her wand to two chairs that levitated neatly to the front of the table, facing the stove.   
  
Neither boy hesitated, moving to the chairs.   
  
“Put your hands behind your backs,” she instructed. The chairs, so close together, gave little room for Ron and Harry to maneuver, and their forearms brushed as each moved to do Hermione’s bidding. She felt a shiver race up her spine at the connection. With a quick flick of her wrist, both sets of arms were magically bound. Harry’s upper body tensed, as if he were testing the strength of his binds, while Ron sat stock still, his legs planted firmly on the ground, apart, so that Hermione could see a tell-tale bulge tenting the front of his apron.   
  
“You’ve both been very bad, haven’t you?” She tapped her wand against the palm of her hand, briefly wishing she’d kept her shoes on from earlier. She bit back a smile as both Ron and Harry nodded eagerly.   
  
Hermione smiled and turned away from them. She threw a glance over her shoulder and let the dressing gown fall away, watching as two sets of eyes roved over her backside. Still turned away from them, she bent to unclasp the stockings from the panties, and as slowly as she could, she rolled each leg down, making sure to waggle her bum in the air as she moved.  
  
She turned around to see both Harry and Ron straining against their ropes.   
  
Watching them both, she licked her lips and reached behind herself, struggling for a moment with the clasp of the bra before peeling it away from herself and sliding it down her arms. She could smell herself by now, aroused and excited, and briefly wondered, as she pinched her nipples into diamond hard points, if Ron and Harry could smell her as well.  
  
She moved closer to them before gliding her panties down her legs and kicking them off into Ron’s lap. She rubbed herself slowly, her hips jutting forward against her hand. She spread her legs wide and slipped a finger fully inside herself, rocking her hips forward as her body suffused with heat. Ron groaned loudly.   
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows, looking pointedly at his bulging front. “I guess we have a few things to take care of, don’t we?”  
  
She bent down and placed her lips against his. He opened his mouth and thrust his tongue against hers, the muscles in his neck straining as he tried to bring himself closer. Hermione brushed her hand along his front, causing him to lift his hips off the chair. He pulled his lips away from her with a grunt, eyes shut and nostrils flaring, as his heavy breathing filled the room.  
  
Beside them, Harry made a strangled noise, eyes trained on Ron’s lap. Hermione flicked her eyes in his direction and smiled, moving to block Ron from his view. He pulled a face and tried to peer around her. She tsked and placed her hands on either side of his head, pulling off his glasses and dropping them to floor before moving to stand in front of him, satisfied when his head followed her movement.   
  
She straddled Harry, her feet pressed against the bottom rung of the chair for leverage as she began to move her hips back and forth against him, pressing her wet cunt against the bulge in his trousers, and letting the hardened tips of her nipples brush against his shirt. He swore loudly and bucked against her. Her head dropped back and she looked over to the side, lips open in a silent cry, to see Ron straining with all his might against his ropes, teeth gritted, eyes wide and locked on hers.  
  
Unwilling to move away to find her wand by the stove, Hermione shut her eyes against his burning gaze and whispered a spell. A moment later she felt two sets of hands on her. Ron, moving to kneel on the floor in front of Harry’s chair, had already splayed his hands against her breasts, kneading them with his fingers. Harry had slipped one hand between their laps, moving a finger inside of her, and oh, finding the spot that made Hermione’s hips jump wildly against his hand.   
  
She grew dizzy, completely naked and shameless between two fully clothed men, both working her towards her climax. She shut her eyes and rested her head against Ron’s chest so that she could feel his pounding heart, as his lips found the sensitive juncture where her shoulder met her neck and pressed wet kisses along her heated skin. Harry slipped another finger in, whispering something about heat and wet and inside, his thumb moving in wide circles against her.   
  
After a few moments, the movement stopped. Hermione opened her eyes, a protest forming on her lips, when she saw Harry quickly pulling off his shirt, baring his chest to her, his eyes trained on hers. Behind her, Ron backed away. She could hear the rustle of his clothing as he too quickly undressed. Hermione pressed the balls of her feet against the rung of the chair to elevate herself off Harry’s lap, allowing him to lift his hips from the chair.   
  
Ron bracketed her cunt from behind, letting her weight rest on his forearm while Harry finished stripping off his trousers. Hermione lifted her arms over her head and wrapped them around Ron’s neck as she jerked her hips back and forth, feeling his thumb slide against her bottom as his fingers slipped against her heat.  
  
When Harry finally settled on the edge of the chair, his penis jutting proudly out of a tuft of black curls, Ron lowered her down, so that she was poised and ready to sink down onto Harry. Harry grabbed her hips and directed her the rest of the way, a gasp escaping when he was finally deep within her.   
  
They remained perfectly still, their breathing heavy. Hermione studied Harry, his eyes shut in bliss and a smile on his lips as she waited for Ron.  
  
Hermione shut her eyes and gritted her teeth when she felt Ron move behind her, fitting her against him so that she could sense the length of him along her arse. His fingers pushed into her and widened her slightly, and he moved agonizingly slowly, letting his pre-moistened tip move inside, until finally he was fully within her.   
  
She let out a shuttering breath, and the three of them began to rock together. Ron’s fingers teasing her breasts again; Harry’s fingers bruising her hips with their grasp. Hermione felt as if the whole of her body were made for this instant, as she opened up around them both, her skin feeling alive with sensation, her body filled. In her ear, Ron swore loudly as Harry let out grunts and whispers. Hermione’s mouth fell open, a silent gasp ripped from her throat, as her eyes slid shut.  
  
She felt them move around her. By the wet, smacking noises she could tell they were kissing. It was one of her favorite sights, one she hated to miss, but it was impossible her to open her eyes to see them before her. Instead, as she rocked hard on Harry’s cock, she let the sound of her own breathing fuse with the moans and muffled whispers from Harry and Ron, smelling their mingled cologne and feeling the sticky sweat bead and glide down her body, making her slippery.   
  
One of Ron’s hands strayed away from her breasts, slid along her ribs and down her stomach to rest in her triangle of soaked curly hair, thumb pressing against her clit. He pinched her nipple as he began to work her quickly, and with a flash and a lurch, Hermione cried out.   
  
Ron let out a string of curses as Harry’s hips began to frantically work against Hermione. Hermione rode out the sensation, her body clinging to them both as they spilled into her.   
  
With a sigh, Ron lifted Hermione from Harry’s lap and pulled her to the ground, letting Harry sink down beside them. They remained silent, letting heartbeats calm and breathing quiet, as Hermione lay sandwiched between her two men.  
  
She felt Ron lift a strand of damp hair from her neck and press a kiss to her. “Happy birthday,” he mumbled, letting out a content laugh.   
  
“Happy birthday,” Harry echoed, pressing a quick peck to her lips.   
  
Hermione laughed. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, feeling warm and whole and wonderful.  
  
Harry let out a satisfied breath. “We should surprise you on your birthday every year,” he said, smiling and stretching.   
  
“I’m certainly not opposed to that,” Hermione said. She stood from the shelter of Ron and Harry’s arms on the floor to peer into the refrigerator. “Although now it looks like we’ll have to order take away.” She held the door open and let the cool air raise goose pimples along her stomach and thighs.  
  
Harry came to stand behind her, looking past her shoulder. She glanced over to see Ron, still on the floor with his head propped up on his elbow, leer at them both. “We certainly worked up an appetite.”  
  
Hermione laughed and turned to face Harry, watching Ron out of the corner of her eye.  
  
“You two still look a little dirty,” she commented, swiping her hand along Harry’s neck and collecting the sweat there. “I ran a bath earlier; maybe you’d like to get cleaned up a bit before dinner.” She sucked on her finger, stepping away from Harry.   
  
“Yeah,” Ron agreed, watching Hermione’s still naked form. “We’re still very dirty.”  
  
She smiled and bent to pick up her dressing gown from the floor, making sure to give them a good shot of her bum. “Grab the wine, then,” she called over her shoulder, making her way to the front hallway. “I’ll be waiting.”   
  
  
End  
  



End file.
